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New Perspective Contest

We all love books and their main characters, but what about what the rest of the characters? What are they thinking/ feeling? how does the hero/ heroine's BBF feel about being in their shaddow? Why is the villian a villian? What is that background character that no one cares about thinking?

Pick a common book or movie (put up which one you want and I'll approve of it or not. This will basicaly be desided on if I know who you're talking about or not) and the character you are talking about. Write from their point of view.
Examples: Get into Peta's mind when he is hijacked
How does Gale feel about Katniss and Peta in the Arena
What happened to Primrose the day of the first Hunger Games. How did she feel/ think?
What were Snow's thoughts about Katniss?
They don't have to be about the Hunger Games, but I figured most people could relate to those examples. So be creative and have fun.
Over All: 5 ratings and comments on their works
1st Place: 4 ratings and comments on their works
2nd Place: 3 ratings and comments on their works
3rd Place: 2 ratings and comments on their works
Runner up: 1 rating and one comment on a work

Right. Is The Golden Compass okay? I've read the books and seen the movie, and as obvious as it is by my username, Marisa Coulter was the most beautifully complex and amazing character I have ever read. Same with Lord Asriel, and all the characters.

Also, I might refine A Cold-Hearted Tale. Woud you care if I entered that?

A Cold-Hearted Tale and the Odyssey would both be great but I've never read/ seen the Golden Compass...If you really like it you can post it anyway but I won't be able to really get it as much as the other two.

It has been years since I last saw him. Last saw my brave Odysseus. I pace the clouds in my agitation, the same debate echoing in my mind, for what seems like eternity. I stare at myself in a figurative mirror: who have I become, so lost, so confused all the time. I am regarded as the goddess of wisdom, and yet I am unable to decipher and repair my own situation. I blink my storm gray eyes and bite my lip.

As many times as I attempt to delude my mind, it keeps returning to the same dilemma. I truly want to help him, yet I know that the consequences of the actions I could take should not be worth it. Shall I choose to rescue him, I will meet a fate determined by only my father, angry with my love for a mortal. Not to mention Poseidon’s fury.

I hiss under my breath at the thought of his name. My mind is not settled blaming him, though I find satisfaction in having another force to pin this on. It is impolitic, but I cannot help wondering if I would be so torn had Poseidon not developed a hatred to counter my love.

And dear Penelope, waiting in her home, what would he do without her? I could free him,

and bring him to Olympus to be with me forever, facing the wrath of Zeus, though my actions would prove selfish and cruel. I cannot do such a thing to one whom I care for. It does not matter what I do; he will never stand beside me. I am destined to remain who I am, and he his destined to remain who he is, if not where he is. The decisions of the Fates cannot be unwoven.

And I stop pacing, staring into the distance, my storm gray eyes fixed on a single point. I may be Athena, but I am no heartless general, no strategist with interests only for my own victory, and with the wisdom I possess, I know that I must do what benefits Odysseus. If I truly love him, that is.

And as I face my choice, I am reminded of an old phrase: love conquers all. The shadows of a wry smile pass over my face at the irony of it. But in a way, my love for Odysseus has conquered all enemies, including the greatest of all: love itself.

We all just stand there for a minute, staring at the place where the girl had stood just moments before, until she clicked her heals.
Finally, Tinman puts voice to what we have all been thinking:
"Man. What an idiot."
I laugh at the truth in his words. "Yeah. The way she looked at everything with that big, dumb expression? If I didn't know better, I'd think she'd never seen magic before!"
Lion lets out a snort. "Can't say I'm sad to see her go. In fact," he turns his head, looking off to where the so-called wizard had flown away in his balloon, "Can't say I'm sad to see either of them go. That dumb fraud..."
Glinda, who has been waving to the exited crowd of Oz-ians, turns and scowls at us. With one hand on her hip, she means to look tough, but the huge pink dress prevents that somewhat.
"Grow up! She lost her home- she's been through a traumatic experience!"
"Well, you sure didn't help much, giving her a dead person's shoes," I point out. "And the way you were all like, 'tee-hee, you just killed a lady, and now her sister wants to kill you! Yaaayyy!" I raise my voice in a comical imitation.
As Tinman and I exchange high-fives, Glinda's face turns bright red.
"I did not give her dead people's shoes. That's just how the magic works! How was I to know the wicked witch would want them back? And besides, you know how munchkins are. I had to put on a smile for them."
The Lion looks thoughtful for a second, and then he asks, "Hey, by the way, if you knew how the shoes worked all along, why didn't you tell her earlier?"
Tinman and I nod. We'd been thinking the same thing.
"I didn't know the whole time," Glinda replies. "As soon as I realized what a problem those shoes had caused, I hit the magic books and searched for how to fix it. It took me a few days- you know how hard it is to find anything in those dust old scrolls- and by the time I found it, she was meeting with the Wizard, so I figured she didn't need any help."
I nod. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense." I pause, then I ask something that's been worrying me.
"Um, so, the wizard said I was in charge until he came back... what exactly does that mean?"
Glinda responds, "It means just what it sounds like. Until he returns, it's up to you to do everything he had to do."
"Which is..." I ask uncomfortably.
"Well, let's just put it this way. If the wizard went through all that trouble to help a confused girl and her friends, imagine all the stuff he has to do for royal visitors. And this whole deal will create a huge stirring in the press. You'll have to deal with that. And then there's judgments to be made, laws to pass..."
She keeps talking, but I stop listening. All I can think is; I wish she'd left me in that quiet field.

I didn’t remember Father very well. He was a phantom all my life, a shadow lurking in the corner of my eye just out of sight. Of course I heard stories about him, but never from Mother. She didn’t like to talk about him. Just the mention of him sent her into a sour mood that took me hours of coaxing and apologizing to get her right again. The others in the village told me about him. They said he had been a stranger in town, and my mother just a slip of a girl. I could hardly imagine my mother as young and as foolish as I was. She seemed so wise—not old, never old—but regal. Had she had her chance, Mother could have made a wonderful queen.

Father had been handsome, charming, a little rugged, and every bit a man. He and Mother met, and somewhere between stolen kisses and whispered promises, I came into this life. The next night, he left. No one even knew his name. All Mother had left of him was a handkerchief embroidered with F.R. in a delicate, curling script and me.

Mother was strong. Stronger than anyone I ever knew. She raised me on her own with not a single act of kindness from the village. Mother was never bitter about it; she kept her head high and continued to serve as the village healer. She knew the ways of the earth and the powers it held. Her mother taught her, and she taught me.

Ever since I can remember, Mother held me in front of the mirror and whispered to me, “Darling Gothel, my sweet child, you must listen well. Beauty is power. If you are not beautiful, then you are nothing and you have nothing.

“But you must be careful, for there are those who will take advantage of that. Guard your heart well. The world is dark, and selfish, and cruel. If it finds even the slightest ray of sunshine, it destroys it.”

Many times I tried to protest. I tried to tell her that maybe there was more to life than being beautiful or powerful, but every time she would look me in the eye and tell me, “Mother knows best.”

I blossomed into the very image of my mother, and I held every word she ever said to me close to my heart. Because of her, I knew what dangers the world holds for me. Because of her, I could protect myself against them. Because of her, I was strong.